


like a dream, a fruitful lie

by highfalutin baby birb (fevered_dreams)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Supernatural Elements, ghost jason, jason lovingly haunts tim, while tim tries to bring him back to life... again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:44:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_dreams/pseuds/highfalutin%20baby%20birb
Summary: Batman needs a Robin. But Tim needs Jason.So, he leaves to get Jason back. All the while, Jason’s ghost follows, as brash and endearing as ever. It’s not exactly what Tim wants, but he’ll take whatever the universe gives him until he can figure out a way to make things right.“You know, you don’t have to do this.”Tim doesn’t even bother turning around. Even if he did, he’d hardly be able to see Jason’s ghostly visage past the stupidly bright blues of the computer screen.The rumors and movies were right, apparently; the deceased really do visit the living in cloying smoke tendrils of blues and grays, glittering with promise and shards of hope.How apropos.“But I will,” Tim responds quietly. “I mean, what else would I do? Live without you?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tim died, but not really. He lived while Jason died once, only to come back to life. 
> 
> That, at least, is one thing Tim has over Jason. 
> 
> On the other hand, Jason has surely never jacked off to old video footage of being nearly stabbed to death by his once-upon-a-time rival of sorts. Tim, unfortunately, can’t say the same for himself.

Jason dies once.

According to the painstakingly encrypted records Bruce buries deep within his most heavily-guarded computer, Jason had burned up, suffocated by smoke and buried within the rubble, helpless and waiting for someone who will never arrive in time to rescue him. He was just a boy, barely at puberty, but he had died nonetheless in a pyre of reckless abandon sprinkled with a hint of youthful beauty. Batman mourned him, and Nightwing didn't even know what to do with himself in the aftermath.

In the end, Nightwing chose to walk away, but Batman doesn’t really have those same luxuries, now does he? So, Batman continued on, even if he could never truly be Batman without a Robin by his side.

And so, Tim steps in. He pieces the clues together carefully, all tied together by a regretful tragedy he once witnessed as a boy. When he thinks about it — which is not very often, thankfully — he realizes that that was the first time he ever saw someone die. Really die, with the thick, spread of blood and dead eyes and everything, encroaching across the stage like a long-lost primadonna prancing back onto the stage for her much-deserved encore.

Afterwards, he sees it again a few times more and more over the next several years after he becomes Robin. A life at Batman's side wasn’t what he initially expected when he splayed all those photos out before them, but it can’t be helped; Nightwing’s his own man now, and the other Robin’s still dead.

And, as Robin, witnessing death simply can’t be helped.

Still, Batman tries his damn best to keep him away from it all, which Tim is, honestly, always grateful for. But he can’t keep Tim away from it all. Quite frankly, Tim doesn’t expect him to. It’s collateral damage of the job. Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as hazard pay or well-fitted HR department for these kinds of incidents, but Tim does his best to deal with it regardless.

Even if he must attend increasingly-regular therapy sessions with one of the only discreet physicians in Gotham, office set up in a dingy apartment that constantly reeks of stale corn dogs. Even if he has horribly vivid nightmares of everyone dying over and over and over again in some sick, probably Freudian delusion.

Even if the sight of his dad’s bloody corpse sometimes winds itself so tightly underneath Tim’s retinas he’s only two physical steps and three carefully-curated CBT steps away from pouring bleach over his eyes just to make it stop.

All in all, Tim does pretty well for himself. After all, he hasn’t flown into a hysterical rage yet. He hasn’t done anything unfortunate or irresponsible while struck with terror and hellish visions yet. In his mind, and Alfred’s, according to the soothing, piteous words he offers when he thinks Tim’s asleep, that’s really all anyone can ask for from him.

At the very least, Bruce doesn’t bench him or send him home for it. He actually becomes a bit kinder — in his own, emotionally awkward way. That, too, is all Tim can truly ask for.

Jason handles it far better than Tim ever could once he returns from the dead.

In fact, he handles it so well he just about kills Tim himself with nary a care in the world. Just a man and his knife, armed with years upon years of training from the best and more, depending on whatever Ra’s and Talia did with him. Predictably, Tim loses, and he lays prone on the ground, willing himself to play dead just to stay alive.

And Jason doesn’t even flinch. Tim didn’t have the chance to see Jason’s expression in the moment, on account of pretending to be dead — like the damn Pretender he is, Jason once said a few weeks later — but he watched the whole scene play out some time later from one of Gotham’s many open secret security cameras.

Jason moves quickly, even through the hollow of a lens and weeks of time to process. Of course, he moves quicker in real life, but at least now Tim has a half-decent chance to actually watch the way he moves.

He moves like a beast. A wild, starving animal, prowling for food and one more day. Or, perhaps he’s hunting for territory, a family to claim and a place to own. No trespassers allowed. Fakes and potential usurpers must be eliminated as soon as possible.

Jason has chosen death as his remedy.

Just like he had been in the past, video Jason is dressed in that gaudy, macabre Batman suit he came up with. The cowl completely covers his face, but Tim knows Jason must be nothing short of utterly unfazed. He strikes Tim hard and fast with no hint of hesitation in the flex of his muscles or curl of his fingers. He even hits Tim in all the places where it really hurts, like the sides where the suit has more give and less padding because otherwise it’d hinder their mobility too much. Over and over again, he lays heavy blows upon Tim’s frame with a maniacal efficiency, and it’s almost too watch for Tim to watch.

Not because of any trauma the recounting engenders in him, from the blood seeping through Tim’s outfit to the hateful words Jason slings his way. No, none of that.

Tim’s just ashamed. Shame courses through him with an iron-wrought touch, hot and heretic because Tim should’ve been better. He should’ve done better. Tim had been Robin, and then Red Robin, triumphant with Bruce’s return trailing over his shadows, and he was _good_. Everyone said so. Ra’s even declared as much with a sinister kind of admiration.

Jason was just a dead man walking.

But Tim lost. Tim died, but not really. He lived while Jason died once, only to come back to life.

That, at least, is one thing Tim has over Jason.

On the other hand, Jason has surely never jacked off to old video footage of being nearly stabbed to death by his once-upon-a-time rival of sorts. Tim, unfortunately, can’t say the same for himself.

_Be my Robin._

_Be my Robin._

_Be my Robin._

Video Jason says the words, on repeat because Tim keeps skipping back to hear it again, but Tim hears them from his memories, spoken by the man himself in the flesh. His words had sounded oddly sincere and startlingly clear through his mask, as if they came from Tim’s mind directly. On certain nights when Tim’s otherwise unoccupied and unwisely left to his own devices, Tim hears those words ring true through his head over and over again.

And, every time, they get him good. Too good. He comes in his hand, and he feels way too good to be ashamed for a total of twenty seconds.

Then, he hastily wipes his hands before setting to work on deleting the Cave’s security footage from the last half hour. Bruce will notice the discrepancy, but he won’t say anything about it, and they will resume their song and dance of aloof avoidance born from love like always.

Sometimes, Tim likes that. Other times, he wants something more.

 

* * *

 

 

“Still got that ridiculous cowl on, I see. It’s such a shame for you to hide that cute heart-shaped face and sharp cheekbones of yours away, you know.”

Tim doesn’t turn around. Instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on his target for the night — a recent addition to Falcone’s team, a wanna-be mercenary who’s been prowling around, disposing of defectors in the most gruesome, showy way possible. The police have discovered six bodies already of young drug runners. They’ve all been horribly mutilated in various ways, from violent, indiscriminate slashing of their faces to dismemberment and disembowelment. 

To put it lightly, people are pretty upset about the whole affair, and and upset populace never behooves anyone. As a result, the people understandably want someone held accountable for such atrocities. As it stands, the Gotham Police Department stands the most to lose. After all, they can’t go up against the Falcone’s. They never could. That’s what makes them so pitiable and laughable to the citizens of Gotham.

And that’s what makes the citizens of Gotham so resigned.

As a result, Tim’s duty for the next few weeks — Red Robin’s duty, really — comprises of gathering intel on this new hired help, including his methods and how to best deal with him while also sticking a major thorn in the Falcone’s side.

It’s a tall order.

In all honesty, Tim’s never been the best in terms of operations involving the mafia. Sure, his investigations skills were excellent, rivaling those of Batman himself, but he doesn’t have the same kind of strict, sinister ‘negotiation’ skills required when it comes to dealing with the mafia.

Jason seems to agree.

“Not even gonna respond to my compliment? It’s only polite,” Hood continues.

“Compliment? You insulted my outfit,” Tim rebukes.

“Yeah, but that was just so I could tell you how pretty your face is. A setup, if you will.”

Tim can only scoff in response; his words get caught too tight within the tight juncture of his throat, so much so he’d only make a spectacle of himself if he spoke, and then the whole mission would be a bust. Because he has not seen Jason in person for nearly a month now. They don’t often run in the same circles, and the Red Hood has been frequently spotted in places far beyond Gotham as of late. Regardless, that doesn’t change the fact that Jason looks as good as ever, toned thighs bulging out of his pants and posture infuriatingly relaxed.

_Be my Robin._

Tim metaphorically shakes the words out of his mind before he creams himself.

Thankfully, Jason fills in the space easily. “But, as nice as it is to catch a cowl-covered glimpse of your face, I have to ask — what are you doing here, of all places? I didn’t think you’d have much interest in the red light district. I’m sure someone as pretty as you can get laid for free easy.”

Tim shakes his head, personally grateful for his cowl. He feels flushed, even with the cool Gotham breeze wafting over them. Jason, as always, remains calm. “B told me to gather intel on some of the new activity from the Falcone group.”

“About those murders of those drug running kids?”

“Yeah.”

Jason snorts derisively. “And he sent _you_ to do it?”

Tim scowls. “Why not? I’m great at investigating.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t just your average street gang we’re talking about,” Jason says. He strides forward quickly, and it only takes a few long steps before he reaches Tim in the middle of the rooftop. “We’re talking about the fucking mafia over here. You know what they do to pretty faces like yours.”

“You’re saying that like anything’s actually going to happen.”

“You never know,” Jason says lightly. “But, just in case, I think you should leave this job to me. I have way more experience with mafiosos than you do. I know how to handle them.”

Jason speaks quietly, but his words drip with heady promise. They sound good.

Tim didn’t know he could be so easily swayed like this.

_Be my Robin._

“I can’t let you do that. I don’t… know what you’ll do,” Tim eventually manages to get out. His voice barely trembles. He thinks. It’s all sound and convincing.

Jason doesn’t bite. “Sorry, Baby Bird. I’m not the type to let something go once I set my sights on it.”

He takes one more short step forward. It’s all he can do with the limited space left between them. Instinctively, Tim flinches away, but, before he can get very far, Jason already has a _firm_ grip on Tim’s arm. His fingers easily encircle the entirety of Tim’s forearm, insistent and unerring like Jason’s always, always been.

“Stay safe out there. You never know who’s looking to snatch up someone just like you,” Jason whispers. He leans in so close Tim can feel the vapor coming off his breath against Tim’s jaw.

It’s hot. Jason’s so hot — his breath, the heat radiating off his big, bulky frame, even the way he speaks. It’s too hot.

Then, Jason disappears. He leaps off the side of the building without a single glance back, leaving Tim behind to frantically jerk himself off in the middle of an open, unprotected rooftop in Gotham because he’s hot.

 _Alive_.

 

* * *

 

 

Jason doesn’t even warn Tim before he acts.

Though, perhaps Tim’s the fool for ever thinking Jason would. Since he returned, Jason always acted as he pleased when he pleased; the freedom associated with escaping from Bruce’s clutches must be nice. After all, Jason gets to sit back and reap the benefits of killing of the new, nameless mercenary and a handful of high-ranking members of the Falcone family from a safe distance.

He can even afford the luxury of doing so on the most extravagant way possible — by stringing up their dead bodies on one of the Falcone’s most notorious nightclubs. As they seized the bodies for investigation, to no avail because Jason never lost his ability to expertly cover his tracks, the police also discovered kilos upon kilos of cocaine stashed in the back. While that would never be enough to take down a group like the Falcone’s, it at least got them to quiet down for once.

All in all, people are generally pleased with the results. Even Tim has to admit that Jason, clearly, knew how to deal with such people way better than him.

Still, Bruce flies into a rage at the news.

“I can’t believe he’d something so irresponsible! If there was anyone we could maybe get some valuable information out of, it was the new executioner they had hired, but now he’s dead. We’re right back to where we started,” Bruce growls, hunched over his main console with tired, tired eyes.

“Well, not exactly,” Tim cuts in softly. “Jason did get rid of Rindali. Without him around, they’ll be scrambling and disorganized for some time before they can fully regroup.”

“Even that doesn’t excuse what he’s done. You know that, Tim.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Even then, Tim finds himself revisiting police reports and news articles on the incident for several days afterwards. The pictures they all provide verge on sickeningly clear, highlighting every laceration and gunshot wound. It’s a gruesome image; they all are. Exploitative and enticing, they draw the eye in even though no one actually wants to see people look like this. Not in real life, at least, but Tim can’t seem to look away.

‘At least,’ Tim thinks to himself as he stares wide-eyed up at the screen, ‘their deaths look quick.’

 

* * *

 

 

Jason tells him as much when they meet again a week later.

“Even men like them beg for their lives when it’s on the line,” Jason begins casually. “It's kinda despicable, actually, considering everything they've done to this whole city, so I ended it all quickly enough.”

Today, Jason’s without his helmet, so Tim can clearly see the gentle smile gracing his face when he tilts his head up and over at Tim’s direction. “Bet you couldn’t have done it that well, just like I said before," Jason says.

“But you didn’t get any information from him like we were originally hoping for. You just killed him.”

Jason shrugs. “Oh, come on, you and I both know that it’ll be much easier to get all the info you want and more now that they’ve been dealt this massive blow, thanks to yours truly. You can thank me now for going ahead and taking the initiative to help you out this way.”

“Why?”

“I already told you why. The Falcone’s are wide open and ripe for the picking now. I’m sure B will team up with the police to take advantage of it after he’s done bitching about me.”

“No, I mean, why did you do this?” Tim asks.

“I already told you that, too. You can’t handle a group like the Falcone with that sweet disposition of yours,” Jason replies smoothly. “Maybe you should start listening more if you want to go around being the new world's greatest detective.”

“But I didn’t need your help. I could’ve done this on my own, no matter what you think,” Tim argues.

“Yeah, but what would be the fun in that? Besides, it’s obvious you _really_ don’t even know, do ya?”

Tim furrows his brow in confusion as he gnaws away impatiently at his lips. “Know what?”

Jason gets up from the ledge with a huff and a sigh, shrugging his shoulders lazily. His leather jackets strains over the flex of his broad shoulders, and it takes everything in Tim to keep himself from staring like a dog watching his owner prepare his next meal.

Except, with all the effort he allocates towards not looking like a greedy little house pet, Tim forgets to keep a close eye on Jason. So Jason easily sneaks up on him, even with that large frame of his.

Jason’s close now. He stands a hair’s breadth away from Tim, and, even as he leans down to lower his head close to Tim’s, Jason towers over him like it’s the easiest damn thing he’s ever done.

“You don’t know how good you look,” Jason whispers, but it comes out like a hiss of steam, warm and suffocating. “You don’t know the way people look at you. Even creeps like the Falcone’s have been admiring your now legal ass. Actually, those creeps are _exactly_ the kind of people to want someone like you.”

Tim takes in a shear, shuddering breath before responding, and, even then, he can’t keep the shake out of his voice. “I — I don’t believe you.”

“Come on, Red, I thought you were the smart one. The little detective who could solve the biggest mystery with just a piece of string and some old dryer lint,” Jason coos softly. He pushes his chest against Tim’s with the lightest touch, but even that feels like everything. “As my replacement, you really shouldn’t be so clueless. It makes me look bad.”

But Tim can’t help it. He can’t help the groan that escapes his lips upon hearing Jason call him ‘replacement’. It’s like a mockery of a trained response, a bastardization of what it means to be Pavlovian and the bell.

But he just can’t help it, and he hates himself for it.

Jason, on the other hand, looks absolutely delighted.

“Oh, Baby Bird, I guess you’ve grown while I’ve been gone. You into that kinda stuff then? Being talked down to? Or is it just dirty talk in general you like?” Jason asks lowly, all butter soft and musky.

Tim can barely breathe in the face of it. “No, that’s — that’s not —“

Jason’s hands rove downwards until they find Tim’s hips. He curls his fingers around the dip lightly, but it feels so heavy and so _good_ nonetheless. “You’re like a newborn fawn, trembling like that.”

Tim swallows down hard, and the vision of Jason in front of him swirls into reds, browns, and blacks. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. I’m trying to seduce you.”

And now Tim can’t help but laugh — truly laugh, with his bones rattling from the efforts and eyes tearing up from the force of it.

“You’re crazy. We were literally at each other’s throats a few months ago,” Tim hisses.

“Yeah, but that was then, and this is now,” Jason says nonchalantly. “And you’re hot now.”

Tim remains silent. If he didn’t, the first words to come out of his mouth would undoubtedly be, ‘You’re pretty hot, too,' and that wouldn’t solve any of his problems right now.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It might lead do a remarkably pleasurable resolution to his growing erection, but that wouldn’t be especially conducive to future Tim’s endeavors and emotional well-being.

Either Jason understands as much himself, or maybe he’s just gotten bored with teasing Tim with his, admittedly, good seduction skills, because he draws away soon after that. Not without a wicked smirk adorning his handsome, perfectly-sculpted face, of course, but at least he finally lets Tim breathe.

“Shouldn’t have pushed you like that,” Jason gusts, oddly breathless. His shoulders rise and fall with gusto, and the sight mesmerizes Time. “But think about my proposal, yeah? Believe it or not, I’m being serious here.”

“What proposal?”

“About how I wanna fuck you.”

Tim snorts at the bluntness of Jason’s response. At least one part of this situation retains a smidgen of normalcy.

“You’ve really turned a new leaf, haven’t you?” Tim asks. "A weird leaf, I guess, but a leaf nonetheless."

“People will do lots of things for a hot piece of ass and a pretty face,” Jason quips. “But, on the note of your pretty face, do consider replacing that cowl. It doesn’t do you any justice.”

Tim can’t even get another word in before Jason’s gone again, streaking through the sky with all the finesse of his old days as Robin, laced with the burning charisma and penchant for violence he gained as the Red Hood. All in all, it’s a sight to behold, and Tim watches every second he can.

Then, he quickly escapes to his own safe haven so he can, once again, jerk himself off to ashy heat and a low, wanton voice. 

_Be my Robin._

_I wanna fuck you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i keep starting wip's? i also ask myself that very question :')
> 
> it's gonna start a little slow, but ghost jason will surely show up before long


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Jason stands as all of Tim’s dirty, wet dreams condensed into a single form. He does so without even trying, and Tim wants to throw a right fit about it — wants to kick and whine as he fits himself back into the upright, upstanding member of society he used to play so well, but it’s so hard when Jason looks so good in before him.

It only takes another four days for them to run into each other again. This time, Jason stumbles upon Tim laying on the ground, bloody and bruised thanks to a certain Catman. Apparently, Catman and Bane have been formulating ways of overthrowing Batman as Gotham’s de facto protector over the past few months before choosing today as their grand opening for the people of Gotham to ooh and awe at with eyes wide open and mouths agape.

“His methods are outdated, and his novelty wore off long ago,” Catman had claimed sourly. He punctuated his words with an especially harsh grin as he further dipped his claws into Tim’s shoulder. “Gotham needs someone else to take care of its people.”

“And you really think you and Bane can do it?” Tim asked clumsily. Speaking took more effort than he anticipated while having his shoulder nearly gouged apart, he discovered then.

“I know we can.”

In the end, Tim wasn’t able to muster up a great argument against that; after all, he doubted his clear disadvantage against Catman portrayed Batman in anything other than a disappointing light. If one of Batman’s illustrious former Robins, hand-picked and hard-trained from all the other eager black-haired, blue-eyed boys out there, couldn’t even hold his own against a single assassin, then how much could Batman himself be worth?

But Tim never was much of a fighter, he supposes. At least, not compared to Batman’s other Robin’s.

Especially not compared to Jason.

Even as a kid, Jason fought with the kind of ferocity and shameless audacity only a kid could muster. And yet, Jason was _good_. Not exactly Dick because Dick could fly, really truly soar through the air with an infuriating ease, but Jason knew exactly how to kick a man to make it hurt, and he did so with the most glorious smile.

Tim knows because he used to watch Jason from his bedroom window, back in the day. Way back when things were so simple, and his sexual awakening from watching Robin dart across Gotham’s skyline didn’t leave him feeling guilty when he wiped his cum off his hands afterwards.

Still, Tim never felt as happy as he does now. He also never felt as horrible, but, if he’s learned anything as Robin, it’s the ineffable fact that happiness comes with a steep price.

Though, Jason probably knows that better than anyone.

“You know, I can’t argue exactly argue against Catman’s logic. I mean, if Batman can’t even protect one of his precious sidekicks, then maybe he really isn’t the best man for the job.”

Tim blinks. Even that little bit of effort leaves him so nauseous he can’t prevent himself from dry heaving so hard he sees shooting stars and kryptonite asteroids in his eyes.

Jason just smirks down at him meaner. Today, he roams around Gotham with only his domino on. No red helmet in sight. Tim likes him like that, handsome and stereotypically masculine with that strong jaw and cut cheekbones. At the same time, he hates Jason like that because, like that, he makes Tim feel even weaker than getting ferociously tossed around by Catman ever could.

Tim coughs again — violently. He tastes blood on the back of his teeth, acrid and metallic. Tentatively, he attempts to lick it away.

It only grows stronger. It floods his sinuses and tastes distinctly like Jason, stabbing his side and leaving him for dead.

Strangely nostalgic.

Slowly, Tim makes a move to roll over on his side, just in case he really does start hurling; if there’s any embarrassing way to go, it’d definitely be death by asphyxiation a la his own loser vomit. Except, before he can, Jason stops him with one of his long, impossibly firm legs.

“Slow down there, Baby Bird. You’re gonna hurt yourself by being so eager,” Jason says.

“I’ll be worse off I just stay here like this,” Tim argues. “Just give me a minute to… catch my breath. And then I’ll call B or Nightwing or…” He coughs again. It’s fucking wet, but his throat feels so dry. “...somebody.”

“ _Or_ you could just let me help. I’m already here, after all.”

Tim opens his mouth. Then, he closes it. Admittedly, the situation has rendered him a bit stunned, even beyond the shrieking wound in his lower abdomen. Likely a result of his slightly-traumatized psyche rebelling the sight of Jason looming over him in a dank and dreary place.

It resembles that night too closely for Tim’s comfort.

_Be my Robin._

Tim closes his eyes, and it takes everything in him to just breathe through it all — the tensing of his body at the memory, with the stab wound and the blood and the _failure_ , along with the searing hot desire he can never seem to escape from. Not when it comes to Jason, at least.

Never Jason.

Always Jason.

“Come on, Red, give me a sign of life over here,” Jason sighs. “If you make me deliver your dead body to Daddy Bats, he’ll probably kill me too. You wouldn’t want my second death resting on your heavenly conscience, would you?”

“I’m not dead, so there’s no need to be so dramatic,” Tim rasps.

“Then let me help you out, yeah? You can trust me.”

Tim would scoff if he didn’t know doing so would tear apart his throat even more. Without that buffer, though, all he can do is say, “Yes,” and wonder how he even got here in the first place.

“Finally. I don’t do anything without permission, you know,” Jason says. He kneels down beside Tim slowly. A vexing creak of his leather boots greets Tim as he squats down lower and lower using those magnificent thighs of him, but Tim soon can’t think about much more except Jason’s muscular forearms as he hauls Tim up bridal style. “You good? I’m not aggravating any of your wounds?”

He is. The grip Jason has on his back sits right above a nasty gash Catman left behind, but he can’t help it. So, Tim just shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m fine,” Tim repeats, voice firm.

Jason smirks. “Have it your way. There are easier ways to tell me you enjoy it rough, but I’ll play along.”

Against all rational judgement, Tim smiles at that. Then, he chokes out a haggard laugh, but Jason doesn’t mock him for the way he retches afterwards. Instead, he just smiles back, and it’s weird, but it’s _nice_.

“By the way, I noticed you took my expert sage advice to heart and finally got rid of that cowl. I gotta say, it’s nice to be able to see your pretty little face now, even with that bloody nose you’re sporting now,” Jason breezes.

“I could say the same for you. Minus the bloody nose, of course.”

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing Jason does after they reach his apartment is dump Tim onto his bed with a startling amount of care. The second thing he does is undress Tim, hands now bare of his gloves and rougher without them.

But they feel so, so good against Tim’s skin.

“Damn, the guy really did a number on you, huh?” Jason notes. He even gives Tim a sympathetic wince after he peels away a particularly bloody patch of Kevlar away from skin rubber red and raw. “You sure you’re fine enough to just sleep it off? I could always take you to the cave or something.”

“You really wanna make a trip to the — to the Batcave right now?” Tim asks. The last couple of words escape his chapped lips in a pained hiss as Jason begins applying antiseptic to the deeper wounds, but he gets them out nonetheless. For a brief moment, he lets himself take pride in that.

He figures he should take all he can get of it while he still can.  
  
“You know I like avoiding B as much as possible,” Jason replies.

“Then it’s settled. We stay.”

“Didn’t know you could be so stubborn, Tim. I always took you for the goody-two-shoes Robin who always followed the rules like a good son.” Jason brushes his fingers across a different wound, fresher this time, and Tim flinches away before he can stop himself.

Jason doesn’t let him go far, though, ever vigilant in his task as a back-alley medic. In fact, he might even be enjoying this new role of his, if that split smirk of his stands for anything.

“I mean, I always figured that’s why Bruce adores you so much. After dealing with me, you were probably that breath of fresh mountain air he never even knew he wanted all that time,” Jason continues. He presses down harder, but he’s gentle about it. Somehow. It doesn’t make much sense, but most things about Jason don’t seem to in Tim’s mind.

In turn, Tim sucks in a harsh breath against the stinging in his side and wills his tears to stay in their fucking place before responding. “I dunno; I always got the feeling Bruce would sometimes look right through me and wonder what was wrong with me. Missing.” He pauses, and he simply cannot stop a few tears from falling. “He missed you.”

“A whole lot of good that did me, huh?” Jason huffs impatiently, gaze averted and lips thin. “Anyway, enough of that. The last thing I want to do after finally getting you in bed is talk about all of Bruce’s fuck up’s.”

“What did you have in mind then?”

Jason stares down at Tim like the Cheshire Cat who got the cream. But not any cream — the good stuff, infused with stardust, Jesus’s blood, and Tim’s body because Jesus just doesn’t have enough flesh to go around anymore. “I think you could guess. You’re the smart one, after all. But, if you want me to clarify, I actually planned on fucking you until he could hardly walk.”

Tim flushes despite himself, like the needy mess he is. “Why?”

“Like I said before — because you’re hot,” Jason says blandly. “I quite enjoy sleeping with people I find hot. I know we had some rough times in the past, but I’ve gotten over that. In fact, I might even say you’ve grown on me.”

“So what about now?” Tim asks. “I’m in your bed now, aren’t I?”

Jason’s eyebrow shoots up so quickly it nearly breaches the stratosphere. “Tempting, but there’s no way in hell I’d risk getting balls-deep inside you and hurting you after you nearly got killed a few hours ago. I may be an asshole, but I’m not cruel.”

Tim smiles and sighs. “No, I guess not.”

“Not to mention, it’s time for beaten Baby Birds to go to sleep,” Jason announces, rising from the bed. “A good night’s sleep can do wonders.”

“Yeah? Like speed up physical healing while promoting mental and emotional well-being?” Tim asks.

“You know it. I guess Bruce didn’t only spew shit.”

“I guess not.”

 

* * *

 

Tim wakes up a few hours later to the sight of Jason, once again, hovering over him. This time, the domino’s gone completely, and the look behind Jason’s prussian blue eyes is unlike anything Tim has ever seen from him before.

“You ok? You felt a little warm last night,” Jason says. “Any hotter, and I was gonna take you to the cave no matter what kinda fuss you threw.”

“I feel fine now,” Tim says, and it’s the truth. “A little tired, but no especially sick or anything. I think I just need a bit more time to rest, and then I’ll be in tip top shape again.”

“I think this warrants more than a little rest, but I can’t argue with you about your own body,” Jason says. Nonetheless, he brings Tim breakfast in bed an hour later, plate stacked high with fresh pancakes and eggs, and Tim feels both pampered and suspicious as he chews alway at the meal, adorned with a generous heaping of syrup and powdered sugar.

Who knew Jason even owned powdered sugar? Tim certainly doesn’t. He doesn’t own many groceries, in fact. And yet, Tim has always been partial to sweets. Jason’s copious serving of sugar must surely be a coincidence, but Tim savors it regardless. It’s hard not to when the eggs taste just like Alfred’s, down do the seasoning, oiliness, and everything in-between.

“You feeling better at least?” Jason asks.

Tim swallows down a hefty mouthful of eggs before replying. “Yeah. Never pegged you as one to have good bedside manner, but, I must say, I’m impressed.”

“You tend to gain a few skills after breaking away from Batman’s shadow. You should try it one day.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tim answers, noncommittal. Maybe he’s the true coward here.

Maybe is if very near a definite in this circumstance. Jason just does that to him.

Either way, Jason continues to play nurse with a surprising amount of care; he feeds Tim good food, forces water down his throat with a comforting sort of force, all while joking and smiling at Tim like the whole thing is normal.

In turn, Tim just goes with it. He accepts Jason’s charity with nary a qualm, and, _fuck_ does it feel good. The way Jason makes him feel as he tilts Tim’s chin upwards to feed him soup is scarily good, and it takes everything in Tim’s shuddering, pained, earthly body to stop himself from moaning aloud at the brush of calloused fingers beneath his chin.

Because Jason stands as all of Tim’s dirty, wet dreams condensed into a single form. He does so without even trying, and Tim wants to throw a right fit about it — wants to kick and whine as he fits himself back into the upright, upstanding member of society he used to play so well, but it’s so _hard_ when Jason looks so good in before him.

“You know, I never understood what Kori mean when she talked about how nice it was to feed someone who looks so nice when they eat,” Jason murmurs quietly. He reaches out a hand carefully. Tim almost flinches away, only to later find himself leaning into the feeling of Jason brushing a surprisingly smooth thumb over his lip. He draws away in slow-motion before licking away at the leftover syrup. “But I think I get it now after watching you eat.”

“I think you’ve lost your fucking mind,” Tim responds flatly. Of course, the flush overtaking his face probably lessens the impact of his words, but he tries anyway.

He always tries.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just can’t wait to see you laying on my bed again, once you’re feeling well again,” Jason says easily.

And he makes everything look easy. Even this, whatever otherworldly thing they’re doing right now, looks so easy when Jason does it. So much so that Tim can’t do anything but laugh and shake his head in mirth after swallowing the last of the sweet, fluffy pancakes Jason whipped up for him.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see about that,” Tim breezes. He even flutters his eyelashes as best as he can, to Jason’s unerring amusement; at the very least, Jason just laughs at him, all mocking and all moxy.

“Say that again when you’re feeling better, ok? Or else I won’t believe you.”

“As if I could trick you that easily when I’m in this state,” Tim mutters.

Jason smiles wryly. “You’d be surprised at how easy it can be to lie.”

“And you’d be surprised how easy it can be to just tell the truth.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jason sighs. “Maybe you’ve always been right.”

Tim doesn’t respond to that. He just swallows down his last mouthful of eggs and hopes this moment lasts for just a bit longer.

Because it’s nice.

Jason makes him feel like such a nice person.

 

* * *

 

Tim leaves after a few more hours of restless bed rest.

To be more specific, Jason hauls Tim out of his bed a few hours later, insistent and unmoved by Tim’s pleas.

“Sorry Baby Bird, now that you’re all good, lucid, and not at any immediate risk of falling into a disease-induced coma, it’s time for you to go back to Daddy Bats,” Jason says. “We both know he can take care of you way better than I ever could.”

“But I don’t need anyone to take care of me anymore,” Tim refutes. “So it’s fine if I stay here.”

“Please, as if I’d believe you now. Your so tired your eyes are practically rolling out of their sockets right now.”

Tim continues to argue after that, drawing on all his experience as a member of the debate club in middle school. Jason, as the big mess of stubborn asshole he likes to portray himself as, refuses to budge. He only moves in order to sling a fussy Tim over his shoulder, and then to hand an even more pissed Tim over to an apologetic Nightwing, and then he’s gone — throwing a wave over his shoulder like a futile toss during the last second of a game before riding off into the moonset atop his bike.

In his wake, Tim wants to be upset. He wants to feel offended at being left behind so easily, but Jason is Jason, and he’s just Tim, so it all makes sense, and he’s not really all that angry in the least. Not to mention, the comforting squeeze of Dick’s hand on his bloody shoulder kinda helps.

“Let’s go get you patched up, alright? Then you can get out there again to release some of that tension,” Dick says gently.

Tim blinks up at him blearily. Except, it feels different than the way he blinks up at Jason.

Everything feels different with Jason. Jason just _does that_.

Regardless, Tim just smiles and nods, acting the part of cute little brother as well as he knows how to. “Alright. Sounds good, Dick.”

“And don’t worry about Jason,” Dick adds, soldiering on as if he never even heard Tim in the first place. “He can be a bit prickly and hard to approach at first, but he grows on you. He’s really not all that bad, at his core.”

Tim grins to himself in agreement, wide and wicked with a hint of horrible, terrible, unrestrained desire. Dick, on the other hand, takes the display in stride without a single suspicion towards anything untoward.

“No. I guess he’s not,” Tim responds quietly.

Dick smiles down at him wide. Once upon a time, Tim had the biggest crush on Dick, but it never grew into anything past that — the crush of a young boy in the throes of puberty who’d fuck, or get fucked, by any living thing that resembles attractive. For that, Tim’s admittedly grateful. After all, his hair’s not nearly red enough to catch Dick’s attention.

And coming to afterimages of Jason leaving over him, forehead sweaty and brows creased with exertion feels so, so much better than any fantasy he ever had of Dick.

Because Jason just does that. To him.

Effortlessly.

Unfairly.

 

* * *

 

That night, Bruce practically has an aneurysm when he spots Tim creeping back into the manor. Jason returned his suit to him before he left, but he never went through the effort of changing Tim back into it. So, now Tim’s stuck seeping fresh blood from old wounds through the clothes Jason lent him, and he looks like a downright mess because of it.

“What happened?” Bruce demands in that croaky Batman voice of his. “Why didn’t you call for backup before it got this bad? We’re a team. We help each other during situations like these. There’s no glory in getting killed. I thought you knew better than that.”

Tim winces against his own volition. When Bruce wants to hit hard, he goes for the kill — jugular, heart, medulla, and everything. It’s just how he is. How he’s always been. Usually, Tim admires him for it, but, right now, it hurts too much for that kind of reverence.

“I didn’t have time, and I didn’t want to get anyone else involved if it wasn’t necessary,” Tim says, but Bruce doesn’t hear him; he’s too busy cornering Tim into one of the cave’s numerous sick beds to listen carefully.

Alfred, too, appears within record time, armed with gauze and plenty of fresh, soft water and an apologetic smile.

“Explain it all to me later. For now, rest up and _don’t_ push yourself,” Bruce growls. He pushes Tim down gently — gentler than Jason, at any rate — but that’s not what Tim wants right now.

Regardless, Tim lets himself fall without complaint to find Alfred peering down at him, supplies at the ready and so much nicer than Jason.

“Feel free to relax, Master Timothy,” Alfred soothes, smooth despite the wrinkles bunched around his mouth. Something prickles the side of Tim’s arm with a cloying sting. “We’ll take care of everything. All you need to do is recover. For all our sakes.”

Tim nods dumbly. The anesthetic is already setting in. Tim’s always been weak to these things.

Jason used to be so strong against them. It used to take him forever to fall asleep, according to the old footage Bruce keeps around the place.

“Alright. Sounds good,” Tim slurs. His eyelids droop. The room spins, and his thoughts melt into a hot, incomprehensible mess. “Wake me up when it’s time.”

Time for what, however, alludes Tim. Despite that, Alfred nods, consolatory. “Of course, Master Timothy.”

‘Jason wouldn’t be so giving,’ Tim thinks to himself before he slips away. ‘He’d fight with me. He’d fuck me, if I were better.’

‘God, I want him to fuck me.’

“Goodnight, Baby Bird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [me twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jason laughs before grabbing Tim by the ass and hauling him up like it’s nothing at all — effortless.
> 
> Tim used to envy Jason for how effortless he made things look in those old videos of him, from making Bruce smile to clearing out Gotham’s biggest and baddest at the tender age of thirteen.
> 
> Now, he fucking loves it.

“There are easier ways to tell me you enjoy it rough, but I’ll play along.”

Sometimes — about twice a week, to be more specific — Tim dreams of Jason. On some nights, his dreams are wildly wholesome. In those dreams, they’re something like friends; at the very least, they’re close enough to share a meal together around the smallest dining table in the manor. Together, they smile and laugh at overwrought jokes before sharing mundane stories about their day over a bowl of Alfred’s signature guacamole. The scene doesn’t even strike Tim as odd until after he wakes up, blinking away unfounded nostalgia.

In hindsight, dreams like those probably represent the kind of childhood Tim wished he had. One full of cute conversations across the dining table that amount to nothing even if they mean everything. Wanting Jason to fulfill that, however, is a bit strange.

Because rarely does he actually think of Jason as a true brother.

As a result, his more risque dreams of Jason make much more sense.

“There are easier ways to tell me you enjoy it rough, but I’ll play along,” Jason repeats because, in Tim’s dreams, repeating himself like that isn’t as weird. Neither is parroting words he said in the real world. After all, he can hardly be found culpable for whatever weird, unrealistic actions Tim dreams up for him.

So, it’s no fault of Jason’s when he slips his dick inside Tim’s ass after a not-so-thorough prep session. It burns nice and hot as he enters, but Jason still takes care to go nice and slow, all for Tim.

Tim doesn’t want him to go slow.

He jerks his hips back, and Jason slides inside him like a dream and more. After that, he quickly gets the memo. He fucks into Tim hard and fast, digging his fingers into Tim’s hips with a slide of his nails, all tied together with the prick of his teeth against Tim’s neck.

Jason scrapes his teeth down, down, _down_. He pierces soft, warm, and wanton flesh with a guttural growl, come straight from the throat, and Tim keens as he bites down even harder.

Jason thrusts again, harsh. Tim makes a valiant effort to wrap his legs around Jason, but it’s difficult to when Jason’s so damn bulky. In the end, however, he succeeds, and result is spectacular; the press of his needy cock against Jason’s firm abs just feels so fucking good, and Tim can hardly see straight anymore. In fact, the whole thing feels so good Tim could come any second. He’s so, so close, and he’s ready for it. For Jason, for more, for it all.

Except, he doesn’t come. He never comes in his dreams, no matter how much he wants to. The dream always ends before then, just like it does today, leaving Tim wanting and wishing in his damp boxers.

“Master Timothy, you look a bit tired this morning,” Alfred says when he spots Tim ambling into the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep for a little longer?”

“I’m fine. I have to wake up sooner or later.”

“That certainly is the truth. But,” Alfred slides over a heaping plate of pancakes and eggs, “that doesn’t have to mean right now.”

“I know,” Tim whispers. “Thanks.”

He takes a bite. It’s good. Alfred’s cooking always tastes good.

But he doesn’t put as much powdered sugar on the pancakes.

Tim licks his lips and misses the sweetness.

 

* * *

 

“Well look who it is. Looks like you’ve finally got the green light to get back in the field, huh?”

Tim looks up. Above him, on one of the balconies of an abandoned apartment in an abandoned, broken-down building still reeling from Gotham’s last major catastrophe, stands Jason. Up there, he looks as good as ever, cutting a mean figure against his dilapidated backdrop. And, apparently, he’s still forgoing the helmet. In its place, he sports a mask akin to a muzzle around his mouth and jaw with only a domino to hide away his eyes.

“Yup,” Tim calls back, craning his neck to get a better look “got an official seal of approval and everything.”

Quite frankly, Tim finds the new look much more preferable than the helmet. Even though the ‘red hood’ part of the Red Hood seems to have been almost scrapped entirely, Tim appreciates the ability to take in even more of Jason’s annoyingly handsome face. Furthermore, as horrible as it is to admit it, Tim thinks the muzzle is quite apropos for Jason.

“He’s like a poorly-trained dog gone loose,” Ra’s once said when Jason first went rogue after his resurrection. “I should’ve muzzled him when I had the chance. Even a pedigreed hound is useless to me if he’s not been disciplined properly.”

“But it’s Jason. I don’t think he’ll ever be as disciplined as they’d like,” Tim replied. Except, he didn’t. But he thinks it — his reply.

He thinks about Jason.

Though, Ra’s likely knows as much without Tim having to tell him anything. Jason tends to make those kinds of things explicitly well-known, from the way he leaps down without any hesitation to the way he muscles his way into Tim’s personal space mere moments after landing.

“But should you really be patrolling by yourself so soon? I saw what Catman did to you. To be frank, he really fucked you up,” Jason says.

Tim shrugs, and his shoulder only barely throbs afterwards. “Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

Jason scoffs. “I’m not very well known for my patrols with the bat fam.”

“But you’ll help me out. I know you will.”

Whether or not Jason smiles in response remains a mystery — an unfinished manuscript dissolving away in Tim’s hands. Still, Tim would bet money on Jason smirking something wicked beneath that mask.

“You’re pretty confident about that,” Jason says.

“I’m the smart one, remember?”

“I guess you are,” Jason huffs lightly. “Alright, let’s go and do these rounds then. The sooner we start, the sooner it ends,” and then he’s off, soaring through the sky on one of the many grappling hooks he not-so-secretly steals from the Batcave — the same ones Bruce not-so-secretly leaves laying around, conspicuous in their placement.

Because they’re fools. All of them.

None of them know how to let it go.

And, like a fool lead by a leash, Tim follows. A witness. He witnesses Jason glide through the air in front of him, and, even if he can’t fly the way Dick can, God does Jason look _good_ when he soars.

 

* * *

 

For once, the night passes by peaceably. At least, as peaceably as Gotham gets. They still run into a few street thugs, desperate for recognition and hoping to get it through taking down Gotham’s very own Red Hood and Red Robin. Of course, they go down with little fuss.

On the other hand, Jason takes his sweet time dealing with a group of pimps they catch pushing underage girls as prostitutes out on the street.

He breaks one finger first. Then another. He snaps two all the way back, and he doesn’t let up in the slightest when they cry and plead with him for mercy, slobbering promises of redemption and all the usual jazz.

In response, Jason shatters several noses before he lets the police do the rest.

“Didn’t kill them, just for you,” Jason says later once they’ve safely vacated the area.

“I feel honored,” Tim deadpans.

“You could be feeling a lot of other things later tonight if you stick with me,” Jason breezes.

Tim doesn’t even falter in his reply. “How about taking me back to your place then? Now that I’m all healed up, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Jason pauses. The stillness from him greets Tim with surprising warmth. Then, he moves, like ripples on the water, and he speaks. “Alright, let’s go.”

They reach his safe house of the day in fifteen minutes, but Jason’s already urging Tim out with him after forcing him to change into the smallest clothes Jason can find. The sleeves hang off of Tim’s arms anyway as he waves his arms questioningly.

“Where are you taking me?” Tim asks.

“Just to a nice little hole in the wall. You’ll love it, trust me.”

“But, what about — “

“I’m gonna wine and dine you,” Jason interrupts, and he smiles with teeth. “Like a proper gentleman.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. So I will.”

And he does. They walk together in silence for a few minutes before reaching a small, sunken restaurant serving an odd conglomeration of Greek and Thai food. Though, despite his initial reservations about the concept, Tim must admit that tzatziki sauce might go with pad see-ew way better than he anticipated. Not to mention, the wine tastes great for such an unassuming place.

He waves down their waitress and asks for another glass. Jason chuckles at him afterwards still nursing his first helping of white wine.

“Never pegged you as being much of a drinker,” Jason says before leaning in close, eyes hot as he whispers, “and you’re not even legal yet.”

“It’s hard to be in this line of work without a vice or two,” Tim replies smoothly.

“Can’t argue with you there. Just make sure you watch yourself.”

“If you’re implying that I have an alcohol problem, then rest assured because I’m fine.”

“I know. Just wanted to say it.”

The grin wreaking havoc across Tim’s face has a mind of its own because he never meant to let it grow so big. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the concern. You know, if Dick could see you now, playing the caring older brother part, he might cry from joy.”

“Please don’t refer to me as your older brother while I’m trying to take you out on a date,” Jason grumbles. “This might surprise you, but I’m actually not one of those guys who gets off the step-sibling porn.”

“It’s hard to be when you have someone like Damian around.”

“Damn right.”

Tim’s grin stretches so far he worries it might kill him.

After dinner, Tim’s a little tipsy from all the wine, but he follows Jason back to his apartment without a single stumble. He even gets into bed with Jason, but Jason doesn’t even try to touch him except to help him rest his head comfortably on Jason’s beefy arm.

“Why?” Tim asks sleepily.

“I told you. I’m gonna be a gentleman,” Jason says, as if it’s the simplest answer ever.

“You’re ridiculous. I’m not some blushing virgin.”

“I know, and you can tell me all about your previous sexual exploits later, if you want. For now, let’s just sleep. You’re practically asleep already.”

“What happened to all that talk about not letting what you want go?”

“I’m not. I just thought maybe I’d try to act nice for once.”

“It’s weird, coming from you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now, sleep. You clearly need it.”

Even if he needs to, Tim doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to sleep, but he’s so tired.

And it’s nice.

Jason feels so nice beside him.

 

* * *

 

They do it again a few days later.

Jason finds Tim during patrols before inviting himself into the fray, and, together, they rough up a few ne’er do wells huddled together in one of Gotham’s many back alleys, all in time for a few late night drinks at a seedy dive bar Jason frequents.

So seedy they don’t even bother carding Tim before sliding one shot of gin and another of vodka his way. The cheap shot glasses scrape against the counter haltingly, deterred during their journey by sticky, leftover booze and juice, but, in the end, they make it him safely, and that’s all he can really ask for.

“You really expect me to believe that you don’t have a drinking problem when you can down shots like that?” Jason asks mirthfully.

“Hey, it’s just a tool of the trade. Plenty of undercover operations involve shots.”

“Maybe B should keep a closer eye on you. I mean, not only are you a pro drinker now, you’re even hanging out with me, of all people,” Jason quips. “I’d be worried if I were him.”

“I’m not,” Tim replies smoothly. “After that pseudo pact I made with the League when I was looking for B, you seem like perfectly good company in comparison.”

“There you go, looking on the bright side of things. I’ll drink to that.” Jason raises his glass of rum with a devious smile, and Tim can’t help but reciprocate.

The clink of their glasses seems to echo forever and never, and their conversation devolves into comfortable casualty. They talk about Dick and Damian’s new escapades together, placing informal bets on how long Dick will last before he snaps and punts Damian’s bratty ass all the way to Metropolis.

Jason gives him two months. Tim gives him forever because _someone_ needs to be the nice one, and, clearly, it’s not going to either of them.

Or Bruce.

As the night goes on, Tim becomes eerily engrossed in having Jason so close to him. Evidently, Jason always radiates heat — he tends to run hot after a no-holds-barred brawl, but even now, as they sit and talk about this and that, Jason’s so warm. Tim finds himself sinking so far into the warmth that he hardly notices much of anything going on around him until Jason slings a heavy arm around his shoulder, face fitted tight with the biggest shit-eating grin Tim’s seen on him since the old days, back when Jason used to fly over Tim’s apartment as Robin.

“You know, that guy’s been staring at you for awhile now. Pretty sure he’s trying to figure out what our relationship is,” Jason whispers. Slowly, he tilts his head back, and it looks like nothing more than an unconscious hair flick. Because, to be fair, Jason looks awfully nice when he flicks his white forelock like that; the resulting flex and extension of his neck hits all of Tim’s nerves with an unforgiving ferocity, and all Tim can do in the face of it is wade the waves and pray he remembers how to swim.

At the same time, Tim knows better than that. So, he hazards a glance over Jason’s left shoulder to find a suave, blonde man burning looks at him. Tim accidentally catches his gaze, and the man smiles, lips smooth and very kissable. Reflexively, Tim smiles back.

“So, what do you think?” Jason asks. His breath comes out hot against Tim’s neck, and his voice sounds like melted pearls. “You into guys like him?”

Tim doesn’t respond at first. He just hums noncommittally until Jason leans in closer with his own little questioning thrum.

And Tim kisses him.

He kisses a little too wet with way too much teeth because he’s wildly miscalculated the angle and velocity of his initial approach. All the waiting and alcohol has left him so needy that everything he does lands him somewhere so far beyond sexy, but Jason doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he kisses back with enthusiasm, and, god, is he good at it.

“Is that an acceptable answer?” Tim breathes when they eventually draw away.

“More than acceptable, Baby Bird. It’s perfect.” Jason quickly downs the rest of his drink before throwing a handful of bills on the table. “Now, let’s get out of here. Looks like they’re about to kick us out for that little stunt, anyway.”

The trip to Jason’s apartment passes by in a blur, but everything snaps back into startling clarity once they get inside because Tim refuses to miss a single thing when it comes to the feeling of Jason’s hands against Tim’s bare skin, rough and calloused from the scars and the copious amount of fistfights he engages in. But, despite that, every touch just feels so damn good, and Tim’s spinning.

“Jason,” Tim sighs, embarrassingly dreamy. Then, his knees buckle, and his aroused embarrassment only mounts from there.

“Easy there. Let’s take this somewhere else, yeah?” Jason asks quietly.

“Yeah. Yes. _Please_.”

Jason laughs before grabbing Tim by the ass and hauling him up like it’s nothing at all — effortless.

Tim used to envy Jason for how effortless he made things look in those old videos of him, from making Bruce smile to clearing out Gotham’s biggest and baddest at the tender age of thirteen.

Now, he fucking loves it.

He loves the way Jason feels above him, hot and heavy. Tim has always enjoyed the sensation of being practically smothered by piles upon piles of hefty, down blankets as he slept, but Jason’s weight effortlessly bearing down on him is categorically incomparable to any of that. The way he kisses and moves, with plenty of tongue and a sublime amount of teeth to seal the deal, also gets to Tim far more than any of his other sexual encounters.

And Jason does so effortlessly. He’s effortless, and he looks breathtaking, naked and covered in carefully maintained muscles and forever scars. So beautiful Tim practically weeps at the sight of him.

“Shit, you alright? Look, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Jason says hurriedly, brows furrowed, laugh lines encasing a concerned frown. He starts to pull away before Tim can even say anything in response, so Tim settles for his legs around his waist and pulling hard.

“I’m fine. More than fine,” Tim blurts out. “I just want it so bad.”

Jason’s expression turns cotton-y soft. “Come on, Tim. I’m sure you can find plenty of people who’d fuck you.”

“But I want you.”

This time, Jason’s countenance all but  _melts_ until he oozes a flighty mixture of awe, askance, and the tiniest sprinkle of amused horror. “I think you’re giving me way too much credit. Unfortunately, I’m not enough of a good person to turn you away.”

“That’s fine. I’m not sure I’m all that great either.”

But Jason is. He’s good. Actually, he’s exceptional — exceptional at turning Tim into a whimpering mess, legs quivering and breath staggered as he kisses and licks his way down, down, down, lavishing Tim with infinite oodles of attention until Tim pointedly digs his heels into his side.

Then, Jason finally lets up his grip long enough for Tim to maneuver himself just so for Jason’s cock to slip comfortably in his mouth. Honestly, he tastes normal, like flesh and a bit of salt from the sweat and pre-cum. And yet, Tim can’t get enough.

Jason, too, seems to greatly enjoy his self-appointed task of eating Tim out. He tends to his duty with impeccable diligence and care, flicking his tongue here, there, and then as far in as he can. He does so with gusto, pressing his nose hard against Tim’s ass, and, honestly, the whole thing feels nothing short of amazing.

Of course, they don’t just stop there. As much as Tim enjoys Jason eating him out so attentively, he wants _more_ — has wanted it for so long he might never be the same if he doesn’t get it soon, when it’s so close and impetuous. As such, his whole body trembles with heady anticipation when Jason finally replaces his tongue with a slick finger.

Then another and more until he has three fingers knuckle-deep inside Tim. Quickly, he pumps them in and out, and he moves rough, but he also feels amazing.

“You still holding up ok, Baby Bird?” Jason asks in time with another curve of his fingers, pushing right down on that exact spot Tim loves so much.

Tim has to mewl and moan wantonly for a few seconds before he can properly respond. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But, I do know that I really want you inside me regardless.”

“Oh, what a smooth talker,” Jason teases. “I couldn’t possibly turn you down now.”

Carefully, Jason removes his fingers before rummaging around his bedside desk, returning with a condom around his cock and more lube. Then, he manhandles Tim into position, pulling him here and there by the arms and legs with a firm, firm grip, and Tim never even knew before know that being so effortlessly tossed around could turn him on so much.

Though, all his thoughts about that vault of the window like a bat of hell — or Bruce in the face of genuine emotional confrontation — when Jason finally presses the head of his cock against Tim’s entrance and _pushes_.

He’s big. Well above average in both length and girth, for sure. So, he goes slow, cautious with every miniscule bit of headway makes.

Tim’s over it.

In a flash, he re-hooks his legs around Jason’s waist and drags him down while simultaneously snapping his hips back to meet Jason’s, and, _fuck_ , that’s it, that’s what he wanted, the feeling of Jason’s dick completely buried inside him in all its long, thick, and heavy glory.

“Shit,” Jason gusts, “You’re really just going for it, aren’t you?”

“I wish I could say the same for you. Weren’t you the one who propositioned me in the first place, all pomp and circumstance about it? Don’t disappoint me now, big guy,” Tim croons, and he makes sure to make it sound mean — like a cruel challenge.

As expected, Jason rises to the challenge, metaphorical guns blazing. He pulls back, slow and methodical, before thrusting back in and setting a maddening pace with both his hips and the hand he quickly wraps around Tim’s cock.

In the end, it comes as no surprise that Tim doesn’t last much longer than that, especially when Jason finds groove, hitting than delicious spot of Tim’s with irrefutable accuracy over and over until Tim sees stars.

And, by sees stars, he means come.

He comes _hard_ , shaking as he completely whites out for who knows how long, only to regain his senses just in time to hear Jason let out the deepest, most enticing groan as he, too, comes. Tim watches him ride out his orgasm, and how is it fair for Jason to also have one of the best O-faces Tim has ever seen? The way Jason closes his eyes and tilts his head back, neck bared and posture uncharacteristically open, just gets to Tim so strong it’s scary.

He’s scared. In a way he couldn’t possibly articulate, even if he knew every language in existence with absolute intimacy, Tim finds himself scared when all is said and done.

But, he doesn’t want anything else other than _this_.

Jason collapses on top of him, bracing himself to keep his impact on Tim at a minimum. “God, Tim, that was amazing,” Jason whispers.

“I should be the one saying that,” Tim argues weakly.

Jason smiles sweetly. “Let’s just both say it, or else our pillow talk’s gonna turn into an argument.”

“Fine.”

Though, they don’t actually say much afterwards. Instead, they simply bask in the silence, limbs tangled up and gross with fluids aplenty. Regardless, they fall asleep like that soon enough, and Tim, for the first time since he watched Bruce smile at the sight of him putting on that Robin suit for the first time, has no complaints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: wow can't wait to write sad ghost jason shenanigans 
> 
> also me: wow can't believe jason is still alive
> 
> but we gotta let them bond before the sad stuff happens right? LOL
> 
> anyway, i hope you guys are enjoying it so far!! please tell me what you think!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some minutes, Tim finally manages to croak out a hurried apology. “Sorry. I don’t — I don’t know what happened. I swear you didn’t hurt me anything. It was great, actually. Like always.”
> 
> “It’s fine. It happens sometimes. I get it,” Jason reassures, voice a balm and touch the bandage.

It keeps repeating.

Nights with Jason repeat several times over the course of the next few weeks, and they all follow the same general formula: they do the rounds together, inevitably stumbling upon trouble because troubles never cease in Gotham, before going on a pseudo-date — or maybe a real date, if Tim’s feeling optimistic and good about himself for once. Then, in the end, they typically fall into bed together where Jason continues to give Tim the best orgasms he’s ever known.

The first time sleeping with Jason was already beyond fantastic enough, but, as they become more accustomed to each other, it just gets better. After all, Jason quickly learns how much Tim loves having his hair pulled. In turn, Tim discovers the lengths Jason will go to to be bitten across every inch of flesh he owns.

Of course, neither of them dare to squander such valuable knowledge, so they thus grow to be amazingly compatible with each other physically. Not to mention, the emotional aspect of their budding whatever isn’t bad, either. Because Jason, more than anything else, is unparalleled in his attentiveness.

“You like that, Baby Bird?” Jason often asks as he thrusts into Tim, hand fisted tightly in Tim’s hair as he pushes and _pulls_.

All Tim can ever say in response is some breathless variation of, ‘Fuck yes,’ because it’s the truth; Tim may be one of the more prolific liars amongst Batman’s team of gutsy, yet regretfully honest youngin’s, but he couldn’t dream of uttering anything except absolute fact in such moments.

However, in the aftermath, Tim wonders just how much longer they can keep playing this twisted game of house before it rips apart at the seams.

Of course, Dick turns himself into the sacrificial lamb, tasked to offer Tim a dose of unwarranted advice sprinkled with warning as soon as he catches wind of the situation. Though, he ultimately just adds to the steaming pile of Tim’s own ever-increasing doubts as he does so, paired with an expert flick of the wrist that leaves Tim fuming.

“I don’t think Jason’s a bad guy at heart,” Dick begins, and his smile is grating — pulled way too tight at the edges and stretched disgustingly thin everywhere else. It’s the same smile Tim’s dad used to give him, sometimes, when he wanted to be nice. Except, he forgot how to when his mom died.

Tim never cared much for forced kindness after that.

“But I’m not sure it’s a really good idea to get so close to him,” Dick continues, unperturbed. “Though, I will admit that I’m glad to see him helping you out on your patrols while also keeping his killing tendencies to an impressive non-existent. Truly. I mean, if there’s anything Jason’s good at, it’s cleaning up the streets of Gotham with a crazy kind of efficiency. And I am glad that he’s starting to kinda reintegrate himself with us, thanks to you, but, really, I’d advise you to keep a bit more distance in the future. ”

“All that just makes it sound like it’s great that Jason and I are getting closer, so I don’t know that you’re getting at,” Tim responds, and his words clip at the end so abruptly they all but crumble.

Dick sighs, and the force of his personal wind gale, quite frankly, offends Tim. “Tim, I’m just trying to watch out for you. If you had to go on conspicuous dates with anyone, I would much rather you find one of your cute friends instead.”

“I thought you liked Jason. Or, at the very least, tolerated him. Was all that just part of your good guy act?”

“I do like Jason,” Dick argues, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed dangerously thin. “I like him because I know him, and, despite all that I know about him, I know he’s a good guy, deep down inside. But do you really think you know him as well as I do? Do you think that running around Gotham with someone for a few weeks means you truly _know_ a person? All the baggage they carry, including the ones you’re gonna have to help with?”

“What are you talking about, ‘you know him’? You haven’t seen him once in those very same weeks of mine you’re having so much fun degrading!” Tim yells. “If he has any baggage like you say he does, then most of them are probably because of us, in the first place! So why shouldn’t I try to help? Why shouldn’t _we_?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that I can’t just drop everything to check up on him every other day, and excuse me for being busy! I’m sorry that Damian needs guidance, and I’m especially sorry that no one else will step up to the plate to help the poor kid! Jason certainly won’t because he can hardly take care of himself as is!” Dick yells.

“You can’t keep using Damian as an excuse!”

“I’m using him as an excuse?” Dick demands. “Aren’t you the one using Jason as an excuse to make yourself feel better about yourself? Like someone who can help heal the big old baddie from his woes?”

“What are you talking about? It’s never been about Jason! It’s about me!”

“Then I’m right, aren’t I? You’re using Jason to make yourself feel better. Would you rather I make this about looking out for Jason, then? Because, apparently, I have to spend all my time keeping you guys in line, seeing as you don’t even know what to do with yourselves,” Dick hisses.

Tim sucks in a sharp breath, but he cannot seem to exhale.

Because he’s right. Dick’s right, and Tim wishes he weren’t, but it’s not even about Jason, or him, or this asinine fight anymore.

Has it ever been about that? About them, the little ones. The lost boys.

“I just —“ Tim swallows. It tastes salty. “I just wanted to be Robin. I wanted to mean something, for once in my life. And then you took Robin away from me, but I guess it was never mine to begin with, huh? After stealing it from Jason, who was I to say anything?”

Dick stills, and the raging hurricane behind his eyes slows. “Tim, I never — I never mean to take Robin from you, but you know… You know Damian needed it. He needed stability, and the mentor that came with it. He still does.” Dick pauses to inhale, and his chest rattled with the effort. “He needs me to be the Nightwing to his Robin. You know that.”

“God, aren’t you tired?” Tim asks, and the words should sound sarcastic, but they don’t. He means everything he says, seriously and sincerely because he really loves him. Them. All of them, even when he hates them. “Aren’t you tired of playing the star older brother, in charge of keeping everyone else in line, all with that pretty little smile on your face?”

Dick falters, and the way his expression falls verges on maddeningly violent. The corners of his mouth, no longer smiling in the slightest, twitch so fast it resembles a message in morse code before they finally settle.

They settle. Dick sighs.

He looks so tired.

“But someone has to,” Dick whispers. He closes his eyes, and wrinkles litter all the creases left behind. Tim has never seen that many wrinkles on Dick’s face before.

“You know I love him,” Tim says, and he’s not referring to Jason, but they both know who he’s talking about regardless because who else could it possibly be? “But you know you can’t keep picking up for his emotional slack like this. You’ll never be able to keep it up.”

“But then what’ll happen to you? To Damian?”

“Maybe Bruce’ll finally learn how to have a real heart-to-heart with his own son,” Tim scoffs.

“ _Sons_. You’re his son too,” Dick corrects pointedly, leaving no room for argument. To be honest, Tim appreciates his steadfastness, even if it makes the corner of his eyes burn. “Either way, I think we’d need to stage a serious intervention for that.”

“Even better if I bring Jason along, yeah?” Tim teases, even if it’s not really funny.

But Dick laughs anyway, weak as it may be. “Yeah, well, it would be good for them, if it actually worked.”

“Good for all of us, really, if we had a Batman that didn’t brood so much. Which is why I think my increased interaction with Jason these past few weeks really is a good thing after all,,” Tim says, very emphatic in his speech towards the end.

Dick just sighs again, but at least it sounds resigned instead of aggrieved this time. “Look, Tim, I know I can’t actually tell you what to do. Especially not now, after all I’ve done and haven’t done. Plus,  
I honestly don’t think Jason’s that bad, at the end of the day. I’m just trying to give you some advice here, and my advice is to be your usual smart self about all of this. Jason, he’s… not like us. The Pit changed him. Is still with him now.” Dick pauses, and the frown prickling at his mouth does nothing for his complexion. “It’ll always be with him, and it’s not his fault, but he’ll never be able to get rid of it.”

“I know,” Tim breathes because he does. He has the scars to prove it. “But I guess, once a sodomizer, always a sodomizer, or something. Especially when the sex is just that good.”

Dick chokes on his own spit so hard that Tim almost goes in for the Heimlich. Right before he moves, however, Dick catches his breath, expression twisted into something both amused and horrified.

“Listen, I know I said before that I’d be willing to listen to anything you wanted to tell me, but I’m honestly not sure if I can handle listening about your sex life with Jason, of all people,” Dick croaks breathlessly.

Tim smiles and shrugs, devious and triumphant. “Then I guess this discussion is over for today?”

“Yeah, fine, you win for now. I’m a bit tuckered out from all that emotional turmoil and trauma we just barreled through. Just keep what I said in mind, ok?”

“Of course. I always do,” Tim says, and it’s the truth because he always does.

“And just know that, whatever you choose to do, I’ll always love you, Timmy.”

Now Dick’s just not being fair. After all, he knows how much Tim hates to cry.

And Tim really could weep right now.

Thankfully, he manages to keep it together long enough to breathe, “I know. Love you too.”

 

* * *

 

Despite his reluctance earlier, Tim actually does keep Dick’s words in mind. He dwells on them so well he has a full-fledged _talk_ with Jason a few days later, and he despises talks.

The city’s quiet, for once. They can’t find anything in Gotham that needs their immediate attention, mostly because the major drama seems to take place in Bludhaven today.

“You think we should go and help them out a bit?” Jason asks as they idle about.

Tim shakes his head. “They’ll call us if they need us. Besides, Robin will gut is if we get in his way.”

“Fair.”

So, instead, they make out on a rooftop for some time before the question just bursts out of Tim’s mouth like all of his hopes and dreams swirling down the metaphorical drain of his life.

“Do you ever think about it?” Tim asks.

Jason takes so long to respond, Tim’s sure his words have been lost to the fierce breeze buffeting them, caught riding the gales away to a simpler time.

Then, slowly, as if only doing so because he’s possessed, Jason asks. “What do you mean?” Except, by the tone of his voice, he knows exactly what Tim means.

 _Be my Robin_.

In turn, Tim decides to be blunt about it, the way Jason’s taught him to over the past few weeks. “Oh, you know, just that one time you nearly killed me — thought you succeeded, actually — because you were just that pissed at B.”

With his mask and muzzle on, Tim can’t discern much from Jason’s facial expression. But, if he had to hazard a guess, he’d wager that Jason’s not phased in the slightest.

“Yeah,” Jason responds, so quiet Tim thinks he’s dreamed it up in an odd moment of lucidity. “I think about it a lot.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Of course I regret almost killing you. I mean, if I had succeeded, than I never would’ve gotten the chance to act sweet and sleep with you, and that would a damn shame.”

Tim huffs out a raspy laugh, but it’s more than that. Jason seems to discern as much, too, because his body language betrays him.

He’s grown too open with Tim these past few weeks; Tim kinda loves it, but it also intimidates him, knowing so much about Jason without even asking.

Because it allows Tim to further question him — to doubt him. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, do you — Do you ever regret the whole thing? In general? Seriously.” He pauses. Then, he continues on, as always. “Would change any of it, if you could?”

Jason inhales deeply before sighing heavily, and his shoulders practically fall off from the effort. “No. If I had the chance, I’d do it all over again and again,” he confesses, and it sounds positively heavenly coming from him. “We gonna get into an argument about it now?” Now, Jason only sounds resigned and just a smidge guilty.

Only a smidge, though — a tiny thimble nestled in an Olympic pool, sinking down and down, leaving nothing behind when it disappears at the bottom.

Tim shakes his head. His hair whips in his eyes something rough, only tempered by the domino covering his eyes, but he never used to be encumbered by such things. Even after he started to grow his hair out, he usually got it trimmed before it ever became a nuisance. However, now he figures it might be nice to keep it long.

After all, Jason likes it a bit long, and Tim finds comfort in gifting Jason such simple pleasures.

“To be honest, I kinda like that you’re so stubborn,” Tim eventually replies. He allows Jason just enough time to scoff in response before continuing. “It’s just one of your innumerable charms that has attracted me to you recently.”

“And, if I must admit it, that amazing wit of yours is also pretty great,” Jason says, part sarcastic and part unbearably sincere.

Tim smiles. “Then get me out of here and apologize to me properly, ok?”

Jason smiles back, probably. “Whatever you want, Baby Bird. I’ll give it all to you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jason lies.

Because Tim wants to be fucked hard. He wants to feel the scrape and ache inside him as Jason thrusts into him with a force reminiscent of a man hellbent on usurping a failure of a previous mentor — otherwise known as the force Tim knows Jason has because he’s demonstrated it several times already. God, he wants it to hurt tonight, just a little.

Just enough.

But Jason doesn’t give him what he wants today. He goes woefully slow, lavishing Tim here and there with single-minded attention as he goes. First, he kisses Tim’s collarbones, licking at the sip for ages while Tim keens for _more_ , dammit. Then, he completely ignores Tim’s whimpering in favor of placing more wet kisses down Tim’s stomach to his inner thighs, attentive and absolutely wonderful all the while.

So wonderful. Jason is a damn wonder.

But he doesn’t give Tim what he wants. Not tonight. Instead, he gives Tim exactly what he needs. He gives Tim reassuring butterfly kisses over and across his skin, sparing not even the scantest sliver of flesh from his ministrations. Eventually, he reaches _the scar_ — the ugly, gruesome one that never quite healed properly, so it puckers pink and ragged against barely-tanned skin.

It’s the scar Jason gave him all those years ago, the same one Tim can never forget, even if the memory of so many of his other scars have long since left him. Sometimes, Tim even falls into a nasty habit where he stands in front of his bathroom mirror, enveloped in steam so heavy he can hardly breathe, let alone see, just so he can poke and prod at the mangled flesh there.

One scrape of a blunt fingernail across the entire length to test how thick the scar tissue has grown. A pinch to see if any blood will flow today.

It never does.

Tonight’s no exception. Even with all the wonder Jason possesses in the reverent kisses he leaves behind, he apparently can’t stop himself from being a touch mean; as he moves to draw away from the scar, he offers one last parting gift — teeth shearing down the expanse of pinked skin, harsh, but teasing.

Tim shivers so hard he nearly levitates off the bed.

Jason chuckles lightly at the site, like he’s not also sporting a massive hard-on. “Settle, Baby Bird, or you might hurt yourself.”

“Maybe I’d settle down a bit more if you didn’t act like such a damn tease. It doesn’t really suit you, you know,” Tim says, but his argument’s feeble at best

And Jason knows it. “Yeah? I think I’m doing pretty well, if that pre-cum dripping down your cock has anything to do with it.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Of course I am. That’s the whole point.” Jason grins, and it looks oddly sweet for the situation.

Tim, in turn, can’t help but smile back.

After that, Jason does eventually hop to it. Or, in other words, he ceases to torture Tim with nice and affectionate foreplay in favor of pushing his dick inside Tim with the most delicious thrust.

God, out of all the dicks Tim’s had in him before, none of them have ever felt as good or _right_ as Jason’s.

Still, Jason takes the whole thing just as slow as the foreplay. He rocks into Tim in the barest increments, and of course it feels good because, somehow, Jason always feels good, but Tim’s impatient and needy.

“Jason, come on,” Tim whines, high in his throat and shameless. “Give it to me.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” Jason asks with a smirk.

“Give me more. You don’t need to be gentle and loving with me.”

A litany of emotions pass through Jason’s eyes. Each one leaves behind its own sheen of blue, and, fuck, Tim forgot just how blue Jason’s eyes are. He figures it easy to forget, seeing as he either sees Jason with a mask or domino on or under dim lights whenever he’s without those. Tonight, however, the moon shines eerily bright through Jason’s windows, and the moonlit rays really do bring out the true depth of Jason’s eyes in the most intimidating and breathtaking way.

Despite all that, Tim can’t seem to look away.

Jason’s expression settles on begrudgingly endeared. “Baby Bird, you don’t even know what you need,” he whispers, and his breath pens odes against Tim’s skin.

Maybe Jason’s right. After all, despite all the keening and begging Tim does for something more — more primal, more painful — he can hardly find any real fault in the whole sweet, sensual, and utterly devoted way Jason fucks into him. Even staring up into Jason’s eyes to meet his gaze grows less frightening by the second because Jason just looks so damn good, and he feels even better, as impossible as that sounds because Jason already looks too damn good.

Because, when Tim comes, he feels the most satisfied he’s ever felt in years, and it all happens by Jason’s hands.

“Jason, please,” Tim moans as the aftershocks wrack through his body. Then, with a suddenness that leaves him stunned, like a baby deerling without his precious doe mother, he cries. He cries, but it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it feels amazing, and he has no complaints, even with Jason blatantly insinuating that Tim has no fucking idea what to do with himself. Regardless, he cries, and he can’t stop it.

“Oh, Baby Bird,” Jason coos before wrapping his entire, broad-leafed body around Tim’s shaking form. “It’s ok. I’m right here.”

Tim opens his mouth to reassure Jason that he’s fine, that this whole scene makes no sense and should thus be promptly forgotten, but only a shuddering breath escapes him. He heaves for a few seconds to equilibrate himself back to reality while Jason tentatively grounds him with warm hands rubbing circles on Tim’s back, and, fuck, what’s wrong with him?

After some minutes, Tim finally manages to croak out a hurried apology. “Sorry. I don’t — I don’t know what happened. I swear you didn’t hurt me anything. It was great, actually. Like always.”

“It’s fine. It happens sometimes. I get it,” Jason reassures, voice a balm and touch the bandage.

They fall quiet. Silently, after Tim’s crying fit has completely subsided, Jason pulls himself away to grab a wet washcloth to wipe Tim’s body and tear-struck face down with the gentlest touch Tim has ever known him to use. Afterwards, he settles himself back down into bed with the utmost care, barely even jostling Tim on the way down.

Unconsciously, Tim nestles himself into the crook of Jason’s arm. Jason lets him before pulling Tim further against him.

“What are we even doing?” Tim asks, and his breath hurts.

“If you want to stop, we can. We don’t even have to talk about any of this ever again. I won’t be upset if that’s what you want. Promise,” Jason replies.

“No. I don’t want to stop. I just wonder… how we got here in the first place after everything that happened.”

“Isn’t life funny like that?”

_Be my Robin._

“Funny,” Tim repeats quietly. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

A lull flits over them in lazy swirls before Jason speaks again.

“You know, what I did to you… It wasn’t really about you,” Jason says, words creeping over them slowly. “I mean, it — It wasn’t anything you did. Not really.”

“I know.”

 _Be my Robin_.

“But,” Tim continues, and he continues even though it hurts, “when you asked me to be your Robin… Did you mean it? Would have taken me, if I had said yes?”

A pause. It stretches so long — eons and lightyears, it feels like — Tim’s sure he must have finally done it: pissed Jason off irreparably.

It’s over.

He’s done it again.

“Yeah. I would’ve taken you in a heartbeat. Still would this very moment, if you wanted me.”

Tim sneaks a glance Jason’s direction, and the blues are blinding, but so beautiful.

“You don’t know what I’d do for you, Baby Bird,” Jason breathes.

It stops hurting.

“I guess that makes two of us,” Tim says.

Jason scoffs, but it sounds like an imposter. “We’ve really gone and done it now, huh? Gotten all mushy for each other even though it’s a terrible fucking idea of all of us.”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a bit of flattery and a lot of orgasms.”

“Glad I got to you first, then. Who knows who else you would’ve fallen for?”

“Who knows, indeed,” Tim whispers. But he already knows the answer.

No one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost 15,000 words in, and the story sounds finished before ghost jason even has the chance to show up... but he will show up, i promise LOL!! 
> 
> in the meantime, please let me know what you think!
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> [twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	5. Chapter 5

Eventually, Tim settles into the idea that he and Jason are… _dating_ — actually dating, with all the unspoken exclusivity and kind gestures that border on disgustingly romantic typically associated with a romantic relationship.

For example, Jason has gone through the effort of procuring several of Tim’s favorite blanket: one for each safe house, all real, genuine down with an astronomical thread count for maximum comfort.

These blankets are not cheap. Tim knows that for a fact. He has bought himself several of them over the past few years, and he still winces at the price tag, even as the apparent heir to a venerable billionaire. Regardless, Jason has gone and bought five of them within the span of two months, and he, apparently, bought them just for Tim.

“You toss and turn like crazy when you sleep over,” Jason explains, tone banal as he cleans his guns out with utmost care and precision. “But you don’t move nearly as much when we’re over at your place, so I thought maybe the blankets would help you sleep better. I noticed you like yours a lot, seeing as you prefer cuddling with it more than me a lot of the time.”

“Sorry about that,” Tim mumbles as he runs his fingers over the newest addition. Enunciating doesn’t come easily when he’s overwhelmed by a typhoon of emotions, apparently, and he almost chokes on the torrent of devotion that hits him right in the chest.

“It’s fine. You like them, then?”

“Yeah,” Tim’s fingers rove over the covers until they find Jason’s arm, firm and warm. So very unlike the cool give of the blankets, but no less comforting. “I really like them. Thanks. You — uh — didn’t have to, though. I know these get pricey.”

“It was nothing. I have lots of money. Money that doesn’t even come from B’s bank account, in fact,” Jason sets his guns down and shifts until he’s face to face with Tim. “Besides, if it’ll help you get a better night’s sleep, then the price doesn’t matter to me.”

Tim swallows hard, and he very nearly cries at the way it hurts. “You… really like me, huh?”

“I do,” Jason whispers, leaning close until his breath swirls over Tim’s skin with smoked honey. “You like me too?”

“I do,” Tim replies. He curls in close, and pure contentment greets him with an eager touch. “I like you so much.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Jason leans in to kiss Tim, chaste and drenched in a lovely sentiment Tim struggles to fully comprehend. Despite that, Tim thinks it might not be bad to simply let himself take it, for as much as it’s worth and as long as it lasts.

 

* * *

 

Tim likes Jason so fucking much.

Of course, that can only mean one thing.

It happens suddenly. They call themselves Talon. They’re all Talon, just like they’re all Robin, except these guys never let it go.

They remain Talon forever. All they are is Talon.

 _Court of Owls_ , they whisper, and then they shriek. Something about the true orators of Gotham — the ones who actually know how to manage the city so she can maintain her ever-glorious luster. Hidden away within the catacombs and long-forgotten crevices, the Court of Owls know everything; they see everything, and the Talons spread far and wide, searching.

And they despite Batman for the terrors he’s wrought. They want him gone

The Talons are not human. Grotesque yet stunning, they’ve become something more than human in a way madmen like Bane and Vandal Savage would foam at the mouth for. Even Ra’s might find such a form alluring, if he weren’t so obsessed with picturesque aesthetics.

Despite their almost laughable birdman forms, the Talons are good. Too damn good for Tim, and he wonders if he was ever meant to be Robin in the first place when he can barely stand his own against a beaked menace who hasn’t seen the sun in who-knows-how-long.

Every so often, Tim gets caught in an endless loop of self-doubt and hesitation. Thoughts of his unworthiness inundate him at a terrifying clip; after all, he only became Robin because there wasn’t anyone else Bruce could choose from. In a place like Gotham, settling is probably better than letting the whole place burn.

Too bad the whole place goes to shit regardless.

Tim isn’t fast enough. He’s not strong enough. He's not  _enough_. Not like this.

So, he falls. One of the Talon’s cuts his line, and he falls, grapple left behind on a fast-fading roof top, and the ground lays so, so far beneath him. As buildings and lights blur past him, he’s briefly reminded at that time he fell with Ra’s standing over him. Back then, he hadn’t minded falling. If it meant Bruce would be happy, it didn’t matter if he fell.

Of course, Dick went ahead and got him just in time, and that whole crisis had been averted.

This time, however, Dick isn’t around to catch him. The other Talon’s have him distracted via talk of their Grayson Gray Son — the one destined to end it once and for all. Tim has no idea what they mean, but he knows it can’t be anything good, and now Dick can’t rescue him.

He falls. He closes his eyes, and he wonders if there really is life after death.

(Jason always tells him there isn’t. Tim suspects he might be lying.)

Except, he never gets the chance to find out. At the very last minute, Jason catches him; he plucks Tim right out of the sky, hoisting him up with one arm while the other holds fast onto his own line. Thankfully, the Talon’s leave his grapple alone long enough to get them both back on the ground.

Unfortunately, Tim’s not good enough, and Jason has grown too good to him — too good _for_ him.

“Red, you alright?” Jason asks softly. He presses a warm, blood-stained hand against the small of Tim’s back. Unconsciously, Tim leans into it before he opens his mouth to respond.

He never gets the chance to speak before one of the Talon’s hits Jason right in the carotid with an unbelievably and unfairly well-aimed bullet. Today, Jason has on the muzzle. It makes him look devilishly good, to the point that Tim has asked him to wear it during sex a few times, but it also leaves him more vulnerable. Ruined him, Damian once claimed.

Though, Tim suspects he’s ruined Jason the most.

And it all happens so fast, even if the spurt of blood and Jason’s stagger unto the ground pass by in slow motion. The image of Jason stumbling onto his knees while covered in blood drags by at a sardonic crawl, and Tim can’t even move to react before Bruce floats down onto the scene.

“Hood!” he exclaims, sinking down to check Jason’s vitals.

But it’s too late. Tim knows.

He knows what a dead man looks like.

(He looks like Tim’s dad, bleeding out on the living room floor. No one warned Tim that people bled so much when they died.

And blood is so heavy.)

 

* * *

 

Tim doesn’t quite remember what happens next.

The rest of the night passes by in a blur. Apparently, the Court of Owls are pleased with their accomplishment for the night, for they disperse soon afterwards, leaving Tim and the rest of them to deal with the aftermath they’ve left behind.

Tim reaches down to touch Jason, though for what end remains a mystery. With a soft touch, Bruce stops him.

“Don’t,” he says, voice firm yet so gentle Tim kinda hates him for it. “Go back for now. Batwoman will go with you.”

“I can’t — I can’t just leave,” Tim asserts, but his voice comes out too shaky to pose as any real threat.

“You can. You should,” Kate says. “You need to get cleaned up.”

Tim blinks. He looks down. The thought of looking down hadn’t even occurred to him before now.

He hasn’t had a single coherent thought since.

Then, he sees blood. So much blood. He’s completely covered in blood, none of which belongs to him. Some of it even coats his mouth, but he only realizes it after he accidentally licks and swallows it down. He reaches up to touch his chin and feels more blood. It’s warm, sticky, and smells like metal dipped in human guts.

_Jason's._

Without another thought, Tim pukes all over Kate. Somehow, she doesn’t even flinch.

“That’s it. Get it all out,” she soothes, hand firm on Tim’s back. It’s nice, but it’s not the same. Tim resents her for it, even if he shouldn’t.

He resents himself — fucking hates himself, really — but he lets her drag him away nonetheless. Carefully, she wipes away the worst of the blood and bile before coaxing him into the Batmobile. The ride is smooth and silent, even as the stench of blood fills the car. Alfred, too, says nothing when he greets them. He simply ushers Tim away towards the showers before disappearing with Tim’s uniform while Kate lingers not-so-subtly outside the door.

They’re worried for him. Trauma makes a person do crazy things, after all. Tim knows because Bruce taught him that years ago, in case they ever came face-to-face with a traumatized and unpredictable character on the streets.

Besides, it’s not like Tim’s a stranger to trauma.

Still, he knows himself. He knows that, tonight, he will be empty and confused. The ordeal will not set in for a few more hours. The worst is yet to come.

So, he lets himself sink into the stream of hot water above him with a mockery of composure of while he still can, and, with one last lingering thought, he kinda hopes Alfred won’t be able to wash all the blood away because he wants to keep it.

He wants to keep Jason close.

(Why do people bleed so much? Tim can’t manage to get it all off, no matter how hard he tries.

Even in blood, Jason lingers.)

 

* * *

 

Tim comes to his senses the next morning.

He got Jason killed.

He _killed_ Jason.

Silently, he tiptoes out of bed before peeking his head out of his bedroom door. Surprisingly, no one’s around to keep watch over him.

‘Probably because they’re too busy dealing with Jason’s body after you got him killed,’ the cruel, honest part of himself hisses.

Tim bites his lip until it bleeds; a little blood-letting is the least he deserves, considering all the people he’s gotten killed over the years. Because he has never been good enough.

His blood tastes different than Jason’s.

Quietly, he surveys his surroundings one more time. No one appears to be even close. Good. Or bad, maybe. He can’t tell anymore. Everything’s a mess, and his mind rages against him, swirling with guilt and searching for more.

In the midst of all that, he gathers up a few of his things — pointedly leaving behind his cell phone he knows Bruce uses it to track him like the awkward, over-protective parent he is — and leaves. He leaps out the window with pure abandon, shocked when he lands on his feet with nothing more than a dull ache in his ankles to show for it. Nonetheless, he maintains that momentum as he runs and runs and runs.

He’s not sure where he’s going. As Robin, he memorized every major street around Gotham; as Red Robin, he moved onto mastering the in’s and out’s of their neighboring side streets too. So, he should know where he’s headed, simply based on his surroundings. Except, he doesn’t realize anything until he reaches his destination.

He stops in front of Jason’s favorite safe house, chest heaving and vision blurred around the edges. With shaking hands, he tests the hidden fingerprint lock.

It opens.

The _door_ opens.

It opens for him.

For Jason programmed his doors to open for him. All of them.

Tim takes one step inside. Another.

Then, he barrels into the bedroom, driven by the untenable hope that perhaps Jason yet lives. Maybe Tim had dreamt the whole thing up after suffering a near-death experience, and Jason’s just here, waiting for him with that warm smirk of his.

Recently, Tim’s started coming to Jason’s places unannounced. With little fanfare, Jason keyed him into the locks, and, with even less fanfare, Tim began taking advantage of that. As a result, Tim often stumbled upon Jason lounging in bed reading, only to completely disregard what he was doing earlier to attend to Tim.

Not many people have ever dropped everything just to greet Tim at the doorway. But Jason did.

Except he’s doesn’t this time. Because Jason’s not here. Of course not. Dreams and well wishes exist to someone else.

(God, he’s tired. So tired of this. When will it end?)

Still, Tim cannot stop himself from laying down on the empty bed, burrowing himself into the plush blankets on it. They smell like smoke and leather — like Jason. Tim buries his nose in further, and, finally, with his wits about him for the first time in twelve hours, he cries.

He loved Jason. _Loves_ Jason. It took Jason a mere three months to get Tim to fall in love with him, and then he _left_.

(Tim thinks of his dad, of Jason, of the blood.

Some days, he swears he still has his dad’s blood under his fingertips.

Now, he tastes Jason’s blood in his mouth, and the flavor will not fade, no matter how much he licks his teeth.)

_Oh Tim, don’t do this. I can’t stand seeing you like this._

 

* * *

 

Tim lays there, and he’s surprised his heart still beats.

Honestly, he has never thought of his heartbeat as a feeling akin to a thump or a pitter-patter. He only knows them as counts.

One count for life. Two counts for love. Three counts to celebrate that brief, fragmented moment of time when he had it all before the fall. Four counts to make it last forever.

His heart stops as he recalls Jason’s death over and over and _over_ again. He thinks he might keel over, and, this time, his heart really does just stop.

He breathes in Jason’s scent with a sob. Haltingly, his heart starts again, but now the time signature is different, and Tim finds it difficult to keep up, even when he has so much time to lay around and just listen to the new beats.

One, two, and three for loneliness. Four and five for the memories. Six for love. Seven for loss.

It begins again anew, despondent without Jason to console him.

As time passes, he resigns himself to being here alone. He craves this loneliness in the wake of loss, he tells himself. Why he came here in the first place, he lies.

He’s a filthy liar.

Liars are sinners. His punishment must be coming for him soon.

Regardless, he’s alone here now, and persecution does not come.

At least, he’s alone until someone bursts in through the front door announced.

It can’t be anyone too terrible, Tim tells himself. Jason’s security system would never let anyone simply break into the place so easily. Jason’s too good for that.

So, so good.

Still, he doesn’t expect Bruce of all people here. He’s not even dressed as Batman, which just makes his appearance all the stranger. He looms in the front entrance for a few seconds as he assesses the place before entering, expression tight and grim.

“Tim,” he begins gruffly. “What are you doing here?”

Tim starts responding before he formulates a proper response, only to be cut short from his own traitorous, wail-stricken throat after uttering a single, “I —”

Bruce steps forward in Tim’s silence. “Tim, you shouldn’t be here.”

"How did you get in here?" Tim asks in the most ungraceful side-step of an unsavory topic he has ever performed.

"You think I don't know how to get into each and every one of all your living spaces?" Bruce answers easily.

Tim bites his lip.

"And just because you can get in here doesn't mean you should."

“Why not?” Tim asks. “I’ve spent a lot of time here these past few weeks, you know. Now that I got Jason killed, I might as well just… stay here in his place.”

Bruce frowns, and his wrinkles look tantamount in the dim lighting. “You didn’t get him killed. None of that was your fault.”

“Don’t try to console me now. I know what happened. I was there. I saw it. You didn’t. Not like I did.”

“Tim, please. These things… They happen, and, when they do, there’s no point in trying to blame yourself for it,” Bruce says slowly, as if emphasizing every word will turn lies into truth like blood into wine.

Tim hates being lied to. So, he gets mean, even if all he wants is to be nice and stop hurting people. “Is that how you felt after you let Jason get killed the first time?”

Bruce flinches. _Hard_. Of course, he recovers soon after in typical Batman fashion, but that doesn’t quell Tim’s rising guilt.

“I — Tim, you know there are plenty of things out of our control,” Bruce says carefully. As gently as he knows how, he sits down on the edge of the bed before sliding a kind hand over to Tim’s leg, just like Tim’s dad used to.

God, Tim misses his dad, even past the fighting and misunderstandings. Maybe blood and good intentions really are stronger than water and adoption processes.

“You can’t keep brooding over these things,” Bruce continues, voice quiet and almost insultingly calm, considering the circumstances. “It’ll only hurt you in the end.”

“Didn’t brooding over things out of your control make you Batman?” Tim asks cruelly.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t wish the same on anyone else.”

Tim swallows, and it feels thick, viscous, and downright painful. “Bruce…”

“Please, Tim, come back to the manor. You can’t stay here,” Bruce interrupts forcefully.

“Can’t I?” Tim argues, and he knows he sounds petulant, but he can’t help it; he doesn’t have the mind to care about being his adult, rational self right now when all he can smell is Jason, but the only person in front of him is Bruce.

“You can’t punish yourself like this.”

“Can’t I?” Tim repeats, quieter this time because Jason’s gone, but the expensive bed sheets he bought just for Tim still feel warm, and Tim thinks he might lose his fucking mind if he leaves them, even if he can’t stand being here a second longer. “Shouldn’t I?”

Because he got Jason killed, and the taste of blood won’t leave him alone, even if he brushes his teeth so hard he bleeds until he pukes red.

(What makes a man if not blood and guts? Jason has no more blood. Tim took it all, soaked it up in his skin and drank it down.)

“Come home. Please,” Bruce whispers. “Don’t do this to yourself when you don’t have to.”

“But what else am I supposed to do?” Tim asks, voice barely over a whisper in the void of wanting and despondency.

Jason would laugh if you could see Tim now. Then, he’d probably weep over the realization that his latest paramour is actually a fucking disgrace and incapable of dealing with his own emotions.

Nonetheless, Tim would prefer heartbreak over this.

“Come home. Help us defeat the Court of Owls. Don’t let yourself waste away here, or else you’ll stay like this forever,” Bruce says.

“I can’t,” Tim croaks. A sob creeps into his words, but he’s not strong enough to stop it. “I’m not good enough.”

“You are. With us, you are. Together, we can do this.”

Tim shakes his head, burying himself deeper in the covers. “I — Bruce, I loved him. Love him,” he confesses, and simply saying the words aloud nearly sends him into a fit of hysterics.

Fortunately — unfortunately — Bruce is there to hold him through it. “I know.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Then don’t. You don’t have to do anything right now. Just come home.”

Tim looks up. Honestly, he doesn’t often get the chance the look Bruce in the face these days, so the bright blues of his eyes leave Tim feeling askance and timid. And yet, Tim can’t find it in himself to look away.

“I don’t —“ Tim whispers, wringing his hands into the bed sheets, “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. You’ll always have a place in the manor. You’re my _son_.”

He held it for awhile now. He tried so hard to hold it because he never wanted to act the burden. Out of all of them, he had never been chosen as Robin. Not really. Somehow, he managed to worm his way into the suit regardless, but look what happened as a result.

Jason’s dead again, and Tim can hardly breathe without fearing that his chest might burst into a swarm of maggots from the effort;

“I can’t,” Tim repeats weakly.

“You can. I promise. I want you to.”

The room spins. Tim’s cried so much his head pounds from dehydration, but the tears only begin again without a single sign of stopping.

He wonders if he could die from crying too much. Maybe it’s what he deserves.

Bruce shuffles closer. Of course, he wouldn’t let Tim waste away like that. A sick, scary part of Tim resents him for that.

Most of all, though, he resents himself.

“Why,” Tim whispers, eyes wet and cheeks stiff from dried tear tracks, “does everyone always leave me?”

Immediately, Bruce swaddles him in an all-encompassing hug, fitting Tim’s face into his chest in a fell swoop. He makes no indication that he minds Tim soaking up his shirt with tears and snot, instead letting himself soothe Tim with soft words and a hand down Tim’s back.

It’s different than Jason’s. Everything is different. No one makes Tim feel good like Jason — not anymore.

“I can’t promise I won’t also leave you one day, but I’ll stay with you as long as I can,” Bruce says.

And Tim tries. He tries to resist his weakness because terrible, unworthy burdens such as himself deserve to waste away in an abandoned apartment filled to the brim with old weapons and quickly-faded scents. Except, he is weak, and he folds himself into Bruce’s arms with an embarrassing ease and familiarity.

“You sure? You’ll take me, despite all that happened?” Tim whispers.

“Yes. It’s all we want.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Tim folds himself into Bruce’s embrace. Quietly, but not quietly enough, Bruce calls Superman over to help carry Tim back to the manor. It’s whatever. Tim’s too tired to throw a fit about something as mundane as being a burden to even more people. Instead, he nuzzles himself tighter into Bruce’s large, warm frame, all while he wishes Jason were there to comfort him instead.

Then again, if Jason were still around, he wouldn’t need the consolation in the first place.

_Baby Bird, what's it gonna take to make you smile again?_

“I’m sorry,” Tim murmurs into Bruce’s shoulder as they wait.

“I know. We all are,” Bruce replies.

Eventually, Tim settles down long enough for Superman to appear outside the window. He’s not even dressed in his usual work, considering his semi-casual slacks and button down shirt, but he keeps a firm grip on Tim nonetheless as they soar through the skies of Gotham.

“I’m sorry about this,” Tim says as they fly.

“It’s alright. Grieving comes differently for everyone.” Clark looks down with a small, half-hearted smile. “I don’t have anything I can say to really make you feel better, but I can say that Kon’s worried about you.”

“I’ll make sure to talk to him in a bit,” Tim lies.

“Yeah.”

Carefully, Superman drops him off in front of the Wayne Manor, from which Dick bursts out of in a frantic fit.

“Tim! Thank God you’re alright,” Dick breathes as he envelopes Tim in a crushing embrace. “I was worried.”

“What? Did you think I’d do something drastic in a fit of grief?” Tim asks wryly.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d do,” Dick confesses, and the honesty in his voice kills.

Tim licks his lips in silence before replying. “Well, I’m alive and mostly well, as you can see. Why don’t you let me go?”

Dick doesn’t loosen his grip in the slightest. “How about we go up to your room together?”

Tim wants to be offended. He really does. Except, he finds himself strangely appreciative of Dick’s efforts to comfort him.

For the rest of the night, Dick remains plastered by his side. He refuses to budge in the slightest, even when Alfred slides over heaping plates of food Tim’s direction, or when Bruce lingers in the corners of the room, vigilant as he quietly watches them.

Dick even follows Tim to bed, where he then curls up next to Tim with a studious determination on his face.

“You don’t have to keep watch over me all the time,” Tim protests, though his words lack any true conviction behind them.

“I know. I just… don’t want to be alone either.”

Tim rolls over, shifting until his toes brush against Dick’s shins. He emanates warmth, too, but the intensity pales in comparison to Jason’s.

Still, Tim’s grateful for it.

“Ok.”

Later that night, even Damian makes a surprise appearance. He hardly makes a sound as he tiptoes into the room, but the inevitable rustling of blankets he brings with him rouses Tim and Dick awake regardless.

“You looked like you could’ve used the company. It would negatively impact our morale if you were to get sick because you were upset and lonely,” Damian explains calmly, all while curling his own feet closer to Tim’s.

“Yeah,” Tim whispers. “You’re right. Thanks.”

“Of course I’m right.”

Like that — huddled together in a puddle of squirming limbs that would have sent Steph into a proper giggle fit just a few days ago — they fall asleep. Tim falls asleep, and he almost feels good as he does so.

(Except he dreams of blood. It rests heavy and warm against his skin, acrid in his mouth, and the crimson stain refuses to lift from his skin no matter how hard he scrubs.

Jason will just not leave him, it seems.)

_Hey, Baby Bird, can you hear me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh can you believe jason finally,,, died 
> 
> i hope it was sufficiently sad after all the build-up!! please let me know lol, i am kinda unsure about this chapter tbh
> 
> as always, please tell me what you think :)
> 
>  [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com)
> 
>  [twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


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